


The Taste of Strawberries

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bilbo is an elf friend, Both POVs, Fluff, M/M, Thilbo, Thorin doesn't quite know how to react about that, attraction and desire, awkward/shy Bilbo, bagginshield, but he's a schmoop, but he's getting a bit bolder, different races - different appearances, steamy kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being called an elf friend is a great honour for Bilbo - at least that's what Thorin is trying to persuade himself. Still, he can only shake his head about some things the pointy-ears do. However, there is something very elvish about Bilbo, and this raises a question between them that none of them has considered so far. And it turns out that elvish strawberries are very taste ... in a very special way.<br/>Rated M for steamy kisses ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set right after my fanfic "Ray of Sunshine" (also here on AO3). You can read them indepentendly, but I would be happy if I could excite your curiosity!
> 
> I appreciate all comments - especially because this is the first time that it gets a bit steamy in one of my fics, and I would be happy to hear what you think about it! ^^

Bilbo was determined to enjoy his well-deserved sleep to the fullest. A real bed had been a rarity those last weeks, and sleeping soundly had been impossible for him during the last days. He had sometimes drowsed, but, being seated on a chair next to a sickbed, it had been a fitful and anxious sleep. He couldn’t remember when he had slept as comfortably as last night.

But, he noticed somewhere between sleep and wakening, the warmth and comfort he felt were not only due to cushions and blankets. There was an arm, loosely curled around his waist, a warm body next to his, and a slow yet steady breath that brushed through his locks.

The thought of seeing Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, sleeping next to him was tempting enough for Bilbo to open his eyes. It was worth the effort, for Thorin was still slumbering, and he deemed Bilbo more peaceful than he had ever seen him during their journey. Not even the bandage around his forehead and the bandages that peeped out of his shirt’s neckline couldn’t do any harm to that. Seeing him like this, it was hard to believe that he had fought against an almost fatal injury for days.

Bilbo stretched out a hand, tracing over layers of fabric and gauze bandages until he felt a steady beat under his palm. There was something reassuring about it. Hard to believe indeed …

Suddenly, Thorin’s chest heaved with a deep sigh. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Startled, Bilbo withdrew his hand. He hadn’t hurt Thorin, had he? He had thought his touch to be light, but the dwarf’s wounds were probably still sensitive and –

To his relief, Thorin took his hand, placed it on his heart again and squeezed it gently. Bilbo looked up at him; the dwarf hadn’t even opened his eyes yet. “Worrying”, he explained drowsily. “I can tell from the way your body tenses that you’re worrying, but there’s no need. Everything’s alright. _I_ am alright.” Thorin finally opened his eyes, and Bilbo felt a tingle in his belly. He could only marvel at their depth … and at the fondness they conveyed.

Thorin gave him a peck on the forehead. “Good morning, givashel.”

Givashel? Bilbo had not heard this word before, but he liked the sound of it. Thorin spoke it so tenderly, he had no doubt that it meant something affectionate. Maybe it was better if he didn’t know the meaning. It would probably conjure a bashful smile on Bilbo’s face.

“I’m sure it is a good morning”, he answered, snuggling up against Thorin. “And you should be grateful that I worry about you. Left to you alone, you would care for everybody in Erebor except for yourself. Someone simply has to take care of you.”

Thorin raised his hand to graze Bilbo’s cheek, and his voice was soft as he asked: “And will you?”

“Of course.” The promise came so easily over his lips because he meant it. With all his heart. “I told you so last night, have you forgotten?” He stretched himself to kiss Thorin; he could feel how the dwarf’s lips curled into a smile under his caress.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you saying it again?”

“And maybe I’ll do you this favour one more time”, Bilbo teased. “But we’ve got all day, so why hurry?”

Thorin sighed. “I hope that you’re right. But you remember the commotion yesterday, do you? There was a steady going in and out … Don’t get me wrong, I was glad to see that our company is safe and sound, especially Fili and Kili …”

“But …?”

The dwarf showed a crooked smile. “But as much as I enjoy seeing them, I enjoy the sight of you in my arms even more.” He lowered his head, but before he could snatch another kiss, their banter got interrupted by several cautious knocks at the door. Thorin sighed, but – much to Bilbo’s astonishment – he then rose his voice and told the visitor to enter. He knew that dwarves were secretive, and he would have bet that they were especially secretive when it came to their relationships. So he was rather surprised that Thorin had just called instead of giving them time to shift into a less unmistakeable position – and it was only when Bilbo heard the door opening that he realized just how unmistakeable the situation really was. He shared a bed, lying in tender embrace, with no less than the King under the Mountain! Not that it wasn’t a beautiful feeling, goodness, it was beautiful beyond description, but it would have been entirely outrageous in the Shire. The heat rose into his cheeks, and he dug his face deep into Thorin’s shirt.

“I’ll have to check your wounds, my king.” It was Oin’s voice. “I’m sorry to interrupt the two of you, but I have to be adamant about your recovery.”

Wait – what did that mean, ‘interrupt’? What was Oin thinking what they were doing –

Bilbo was sure that he was red up to the tips of his ears. He wriggled out of Thorin’s embrace and almost leaped out of the bed. There he stood, his heart pounding against his chest. “I guess I shouldn’t get into your way, Oin”, he babbled while trying to regain a calm composure. Goodness, why did he feel like he had been caught with the hand in the cookie jar? “Maybe I should make myself scarce during your check-up? I guess I could go and do a quick wash, and change my clothes … Or I could try to get us some breakfast – if that goes with your prescriptions, Oin?”

“I guess you hobbits know a thing or two about good nutrition, and I think that would certainly do Thorin good, laddie”, Oin assured with a smile. Thorin, who had observed him with obvious confusion so far, now showed a smile as well.

There it was again, the warm feeling inside his belly. Bilbo’s first impulse was to head for the door immediately. Then he realized that it must seem like he was fleeing, and that wasn’t the impression he wanted Thorin to give. So, repressing this urge as well as ignoring the heat in his face he leaned down and gave Thorin a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon”, he promised before heading for the door as calmly as possible.

 

***

 

Thorin watched as Bilbo left the room, closing the door behind him. Oin was decent enough not to make any comment about Bilbo’s presence, but simply helped Thorin to take his shirt off so he could remove the bandages. He asked him to move and stretch carefully before putting some ointment on the wound. Thorin jerked as Oin put the rather cold balm on his skin without any warning. The healer worked quietly for a while, but then he broke the silence abruptly.

“I’m happy for the two of you.” Thorin smiled, but before he could reply anything, Oin went on: “And it seems that Bilbo is doing you good. Your wound heals really well. I guess I should prescribe him as your medicine”, he teased good-humouredly.

“He does me good”, Thorin affirmed without taking any offense. After all, Oin was right. He shook his head in amusement. “He’s such a gentle soul, a pure ray of sunshine … I hope he won’t be too disappointed when he finds nothing more than hard bread and army rations for breakfast.”

“Oh, he will find more, I’m sure”, Oin remarked and now carefully removed the bandage around Thorin’s head. “There have been some improvements during the last days. Dain and his people have brought some provisions – not only army rations, but some other food as well. Balin has also decided to offer shelter to the refugees from Lake-Town inside the mountain, if they accept it.” He glanced at the king, wondering how he would take the news, but Thorin only nodded. It was no insolence: He trusted his advisor with his life, and Balin had done what he should have done long ago. “Most of them prefer to stay in Dale, but there was always little shelter for them, and many buildings were destroyed during the battle. So some people have accepted the offer. They brought some of their own supplies – they are rather happy that they can use proper, functioning kitchens again. Moreover, Bombur has taken command of the kitchens. I think the smell alone draws people to the mountain. I’ve even seen some of the Mirkwood elves at our gates recently. They didn’t come because of Bombur’s cooking skills, of course, but because they were curious to see Bilbo.”

Thorin tensed. “To see Bilbo? For what reason?”

Oin shrugged. “It seems his attempt to avoid a war has impressed them. They’re even calling him elf friend.”

They called his hobbit an elf friend? Thorin felt a fierce flush of anger at this thought, but it was followed by a pang of guilt at once. He didn’t want to seem jealous or possessive, especially after all that had happened. He called him his hobbit out of love, not out of greed. And he loved Bilbo, Mahal help him, he loved him so dearly.

Still, he could not help brooding. Elf friend … Dwarves and elves had fought side at side, and their relationship would probably improve – it had to, for Erebor’s benefit. However, much had happened between their people, things could not change within a few days. So Thorin was still suspicious of all the pointy-ears did.

“And what does Bilbo say to his new title?”, he asked casually. “It is … a great honour, I guess.”

Another shrug. “I don’t think that he has already heard of it. You know, he didn’t – “

He broke off, but Thorin knew the healer had wanted to say: Bilbo didn’t leave his side long enough to hear of something like that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Meanwhile, Oin continued his work in silence until there was a shy knock at the door. A moment later, Bilbo peeked into the chamber. “Oh”, he said as he realized that Oin was still occupied with Thorin’s wounds. “I’m sorry, I’ll wait outside until you are finished – “

“Nonsense”, Oin said before Thorin could even open his mouth. “We’ll be done in a moment. I only have to apply a new bandage, so come in.”

Bilbo entered, but he seemed somewhat abashed. When his eyes fell on Thorin’s bare chest and the wound, he looked as if he would preferably hide behind the tray he was carrying. Thorin wondered why he was suddenly acting so shy. After all, Bilbo had thrown himself in front of the pale orc, he had sneaked through the elven king’s halls, he had even riddled with a dragon – and now he blushed right to the tip of his ears! He hadn’t been like this when they were still alone … Maybe it had to do something with hobbit etiquette? He had to ask him about that later, he didn’t want his hobbit to feel uncomfortable.

However, Thorin could not deny that Bilbo’s shyness made him look very lovely. He had changed clothes and now wore a plain white linen shirt above dark brown pants. The shirt seemed to be a bit too big for him; maybe he had borrowed it somewhere. His golden curls were damp in the neck, as if he had not taken enough time to dry them properly. He had obviously hurried to return to Thorin as soon as possible, and his heart beat faster at that thought. Bilbo’s gaze was fixed on the tray in his hands, but sometimes his beautiful eyes lifted to catch a glance of Thorin. And his coyness brought a lovely flush to his face as well …

In fact, Thorin was so enchanted by the lovely flushed face that Oin had to cough to regain his attention. He blinked at him, and the elderly dwarf told him to raise his arms so that he could fix the bandage. After that, the healer helped him back into his shirt, mumbled something about checking on him again in the evening and headed for the door. In passing, he put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and remarked with a friendly smile: “I’ll leave him to your care, laddie.”

Bilbo seemed to shrink, but he put on a shy smile as he approached Thorin. The tray he carried was laden with cups and bowls and plates. He took his time to carefully arrange it on the bed. When this was done, however, he kept standing next to the bed, twisting his hands as if unsure of what to do next.

“Is everything alright, givashel?”

“I was just wondering …” The colour in Bilbo’s cheeks deepened. “Do you mind if I sit at your side again?”

“Of course not!” Thorin was deeply surprised at that question. “Why should I mind?”

“Well, I just thought … I stayed at your side the whole night, and you might be tired. Your wounds, you know … Or maybe I could bore you if I stayed with you so long …”

Thorin showed his hobbit a tender smile. “I don’t think that you could ever do that. Now come on, sit with me. I appreciate you being near to me. I really do.”

This time, Bilbo’s smile was less constrained, and he readily nestled up to Thorin. The dwarf put an arm around him, pulled him closer and kissed him on the forehead, smiling as he received a happy chuckle in return.

They shared a few moments in their embrace until Bilbo pointed at the tray. “I’ve got something for you. I met Bombur in the kitchens, and he was very generous.”

That could not be denied: Every spot on the tray was occupied. There were a great loaf of bread, little pots with butter, cream and honey, a teakettle and two cups, bowls with porridge, some eggs … It seemed very hobbit-like indeed. And delicious.

“What would you like to try first, givashel?”, Thorin asked as he poured Bilbo a cup of tea.

Bilbo chuckled. “I went to get something for _you_ , and now you offer it to me?” He took the tea cup with a smile. “Nah, don’t listen to my babbling around. To be honest, I’m really hungry. I’ve barely eaten anything during the last days.”

He said that almost casually, as if it were nothing special at all, but Thorin knew the meaning behind these words. Bilbo had barely eaten because he had been sitting at his side, anxiously hoping for him to win the struggle with death.

Thorin waited patiently for Bilbo to take a sip of his tea, but when he had finished, he gently took the cup out of his hand and put it back on the tray before pulling him into a kiss.

 

***

 

Their shared breakfast was really enjoyable. It was not only because Bilbo was hungry – and he _was_ very hungry –, and it was not only because Bombur had given them some real delicacies – and he _had_ surpassed himself. It was heartening to see Thorin so jolly. He almost beamed with joy when he tasted the bread and explained to Bilbo that he had not eaten anything like it for decades. It was made with grain that only grew here in the East, and they hadn’t been able to get it in the Blue Mountains. He could tell such little stories about almost every dish on the tray and shared his memories with Bilbo laughingly.

That was, until he found a bowl of strawberries, almost hidden behind the milk can.

“Strawberries?”, he wondered. “Where are these coming from? Mahal, it’s the midst of winter!”

“They were probably in the provisions the people of Lake-Town brought with them. They got them from the elves in turn, I think. Would you like one?”

Thorin made a face as if he wanted to say something about elves growing strawberries in the midst of winter, but he decided against it. Instead, he remarked: “I’ve heard that you made quite an impression on the elves. They’re calling you elf friend.”

Bilbo looked at him expectantly. He had already heard of his new title; Balin had told him in passing. However, he hadn’t thought much about it. He had been too worried about – Never mind. That was over. Thorin was okay now. “You don’t sound very happy about that”, he said cautiously.

The dwarf shrugged, his stern gaze fixed on the strawberries. “Well, I know that many would consider it an honour, but I can’t bring myself to trust the elves completely. They are … _different_. I mean, growing strawberries in winter says it all. Only the pointy-ears can come up with such an idea.”

He knew how Thorin felt about elves, of course. However, there was an aspect about this dislike Bilbo had never considered so far. He hadn’t even considered it important. But now …

When entering the chamber, Bilbo’s gaze had fallen upon Thorin’s bare chest, noticing its scars as well as its coarse hair, and the heat had risen into his cheeks so fiercely that he had been forced to look somewhere else. At first he had wondered about his reaction – it was not that he had never seen the dwarf like this before. You could not travel through half of Middle-Earth without seeing each other at least partly naked. But now it was … something different. He had remembered slumbering in the embrace of these arms, and he had suddenly imagined how the same arms could – would pull him closer, pressing him to this chest, fingers tracing over his back, his whole body …

He had realized that it was no mere fancy, but possibility. Reality. Thorin loved him after all, and –

“I’ve got pointy ears as well”, he blundered out, only to regret this outburst at once. He had thought of mentioning it casually and without making a complete fool out of himself. Very well done …

But it had to be said. Bilbo couldn’t help wondering what Thorin must think about his pointed ears that were so very elvish. He stared into his empty tea cup. He _wanted_ to be desirable to Thorin. He was attracted to him, and the sole thought of Thorin pulling him to his body fervently sent a shiver through his own. He wished to have the same effect on him, to be special to him, to be the one he needed ... The thought turned his cheeks hot again.

But what would Thorin, with his dislike for anything elvish, think about his pointed, almost elvish ears? It was disheartening to think that he could dislike something about him, even if it was only the shape of his ears.

Pillows and blankets rustled as Thorin shifted. “I am sorry. It was inconsiderate to say that. But I don’t think you should compare yourself to elves.”

Bilbo managed a weak smile. “You’re right, that’s not a good idea. I mean, a hobbit can only lose in such a comparison. Or have you ever heard songs about the wisdom of hobbits, or about their beauty? Of course not. The elves are the wise people, the fair ones. It’s just no good to –”

He was silenced as Thorin pressed a fervid kiss onto the soft spot between Bilbo’s jaw and ear. The dwarf removed his lips from Bilbo’s skin to speak, and his warm breath made the hobbit as giddy as the kiss itself.

“Hush, that’s not what I meant”, Thorin mumbled. “I don’t dislike you because there is something elvish about you, as well as I don’t like you because there is nothing elvish about you. I love you for who you are, Bilbo Baggins from the Shire.” His lips grazed over the lobe of Bilbo’s ear, causing him to gasp. “You’re clever and kind and brave … And if those elves could see how beautiful you are, if they could see you through my eyes … They would have to change their stories and songs to praise _you_.” He huffed. “And I would have to reinforce the guards, or the elves would try to steal you away from me.”

Bilbo wanted to reply, to tell Thorin how utterly besotted he was. But he wasn’t able to form a coherent thought, not to mention to string together a damned whole sentence, with Thorin’s lips on his ear, brushing agonizingly slowly from the lobe to the tip, the soft touch of lips followed by the smooth tickling of beard. It wasn’t very helpful that Thorin reached for his other ear and caressed it, moving his fingers in concert with his lips. Bilbo’s mouth dropped ajar as hands and lips reached the tip of his ears. The feeling was _breath-taking_. He leaned forward, closer to Thorin, so the dwarf could reach his ears better, grasping the collar of the dwarf’s shirt tightly.

“Thorin”, he finally managed to pant, but whatever he wanted to say forsook him in the moment Thorin caught the tip of his pointy ear between his lips, nibbling gently at it. Bilbo’s hand dug into his shirt almost desperately as Thorin’s tongue flickered over the sensible skin, warm and wet and overwhelming.

A deep, low moan filled the chamber, and it took Bilbo some long moments to realize that _he_ had made that sound. It caught him completely off guard. He could not remember ever uttering such a sound before, and Thorin had drawn it from him so swiftly, so easily!

He gave a start and was suddenly cut off from his touch. Bilbo stared at Thorin, his heart racing; he could still feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

Thorin looked at his flushed face somewhat bewildered, but after some moments of silence – that deemed Bilbo very uncomfortable – a smile appeared on his face. He leaned forward to give Bilbo a peck on the cheek and said: “I’m sorry, givashel. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The hobbit could not suppress a chuckle. “I think ‘startle’ isn’t quite the word for it.” He raised his hand to stroke Thorin’s cheek affectionately. “You don’t have to apologize, it was a marvellous feeling. I’m afraid I’m just not used to something like that …”

“We will change that”, Thorin promised, his voice so dark that Bilbo felt another shiver.

“Y-yes”, he stammered. “But, Thorin, you, ahem, you seem to forget that you’re still in a _sickbed_. You need rest. Oh, and Oin would scold me if I allowed you to overstrain yourself – well, by overstraining I don’t mean that –“ He trailed off as the grin in Thorin’s face widened even more and cleared his throat. “By the way, you didn’t answer my question.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “What question?”

“I asked if you wanted a strawberry.”

Thorin made no answer, but looked at him, his face the definition of bewilderment. But then, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, and he burst into a hearty laugh.

Bilbo pouted. He had only asked a question, after all! And he should take care of Thorin, which also meant assuring that he ate enough …

Determined, he reached for the tray and stopped Thorin’s laughter by stuffing a strawberry into his mouth.

The dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise. He chewed and gulped before shaking his head in mock annoyance. “If you have to feed me as if I were a pebble, you could show a bit more care.”

“Well, you left me no choice”, Bilbo teased while reaching for another strawberry. He took it with his fingertips and held it out to Thorin. “I’ll do better this time. Promise.”

Thorin glanced at him as if he were still suspicious, but then he leaned forward to take the offered fruit. He did so cautiously, and his lips grazed lightly as a feather over Bilbo’s finger tips, causing them to prickle. With a fond smile, Bilbo took another one, dipped it into the little pot of honey and offered it to him.

This time, Thorin was less coy. His mouth closed around Bilbo’s fingers, and his teeth nibbled at them gently. Bilbo could feel how another moan built in his throat. He tried to overplay his excitement by coughing slightly, but he did not withdraw his hand. Instead, he closed his eyes and relished the warmth of Thorin’s mouth.

It was only when Thorin released his fingers that he opened his eyes again. “And?”, the hobbit asked, hoping that he did not sound squeaky. “Are they tasty?” He turned red as he realized what he had just said. “The strawberries, I mean”, he explained hastily.

“Here.” Now it was Thorin’s turn to take a fruit. After dipping it into the little pot with cream, he brought it close to Bilbo’s mouth. A mischievous twinkle in his eyes was all Bilbo got as a warning, but he realized it too late. Thorin’s hand veered off, and he pressed the cream-dipped strawberry against Bilbo’s cheek, drawing a line to the corner of his mouth before letting it disappear between the hobbit’s lips.

“That’s the payback for your assault”, he declared with a chuckle.

“Didn’t you say something about not being a pebble?”, Bilbo asked with a smile. He had barely tasted the strawberry; it deemed him secondary right now. Very secondary.

“Usually, pebbles don’t account for the mess they make. I do.” Thorin leaned closer and pressed his mouth on Bilbo’s cheek. His lips parted and he began to lick the traces of cream and strawberry juice up. His tongue followed the trail to the corner of Bilbo’s mouth and stopped there, lingering. Bilbo tilted his head so that Thorin’s tongue grazed over his lower lip and shuddered with the sensation.

Without taking his eyes off Thorin, he reached for the tray. There was some clinking as he knocked something over, but he didn’t look. Finally, he nudged against one of the little pots – honey or cream, it didn’t matter – and dipped his pointing finger into it. He then moved it over Thorin’s lower lip slowly, almost reverently, coating it with honey. A moment later, he began to suck it away.

If he had wondered before if he seemed desirable to Thorin, he now received the answer. It was no answer expressed in words, no, but he understood by hearing his pleased groan, by the way Thorin’s hands clutched at his back, and by the way he pressed him closer to his own body.

Feeling somewhat bolder, Bilbo reached out for the tray once more, this time grasping one of the strawberries.

“It’s the last one”, he remarked breathlessly. “Would you like to share it with me?”

Thorin’s voice was tight when he answered: “It would be my pleasure, givashel.”

Bilbo took the strawberry between his teeth, carefully offering it to Thorin. It could have been very simple to share the fruit, he mused: offering, biting off, withdrawing. So simple. However, the strawberry turned out to be the least important element in the whole scenario. Afterwards, he wouldn’t be able to say where it had gone, if he had taken it, if Thorin had seized it, or if they had shared it as intended. For all of his thoughts vanished as his tongue met Thorin’s. He tasted strawberries, honey, and cream, but the most overwhelming taste was Thorin himself. Bilbo could not call it by its right name, but he knew that he wanted, needed, _loved_ it. It was overwhelming, and he savoured every bit of it. A muffled moan passed between their lips, but he could not tell if it was his or Thorin’s. It didn’t matter. There was only Thorin and all that was him – his taste, his scent, his heartbeat –, and he felt _so_ _right_.

They let go of each other to catch their breaths again. Bilbo dug his hands into Thorin’s hair and kept him close. Their foreheads were touching, and he could hear his rugged breath, feel it brushing over his face.

“What a pity this was the last one”, Thorin remarked after a while. “I’ve never eaten such tasty strawberries in all my life.”

Bilbo could not help laughing. It was a heart-felt, deeply happy laugh. He _was_ happy, more than he had imagined he could ever be. The simple thought of being here with Thorin, together, made his heart burst with joy. He kissed him ever so softly before cradling him to his chest.

Thorin leaned against him, resting his head in the crook of Bilbo’s neck and gave a happy sigh as Bilbo combed through his hair with his fingers. He closed his eyes and stayed silent for so long that the hobbit thought he had fallen asleep. But after a while, he murmured: “Givashel?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I know how much you like elvish stories and songs and languages. So if you want to learn from them, and go and visit them … I won’t say anything. I’ll even try not to scowl.”

“Hush”, Bilbo told him, but Thorin wouldn’t listen.

“Just promise me one thing”, he continued.

“What is it?”

“Whenever you visit the elves … Bring some strawberries back home. Please.”

“I’ve got an even better idea”, Bilbo replied laughingly. “ _You_ , amrâlimê, keep me happy by teaching me more of your language and telling me your songs and stories. And maybe we can build a garden, or a greenhouse or something like that. Then we could grow our own strawberries … How do you find that?”

Thorin shifted once more, his lips softly brushing over Bilbo’s skin. “Tasty. Very tasty indeed, givashel.”


End file.
